


Sleep: A Sackler One-Shot

by The_Torturer_Writes



Series: The Many Adventures of LC [1]
Category: Girls (TV), hbo girls
Genre: Adam Sackler - Freeform, Explicit Language, F/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, adam driver fanfic, adam sackler smut, adam sackler x reader - Freeform, adam sackler x you, girls fanfiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23028556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Torturer_Writes/pseuds/The_Torturer_Writes
Summary: Summary:  You’re not sleeping.  Adam wants to help.A/N:  18+ only.  It's Adam Sackler -- that’s the warning. Ha!Word Count: 4500+
Relationships: Adam Sackler/Reader
Series: The Many Adventures of LC [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1674448
Comments: 20
Kudos: 123





	Sleep: A Sackler One-Shot

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first AO3 post and my first ever fan-fic. Lord help me

Days. It had been days since you had slept. Everything was starting to blur together because your mind just wouldn't shut off. 

It started, of course, with the slightly manic, sugar-coated Saturday that was your group of friends. None of you were the clubbing kind. So, you would routinely be found in someone's living room, basement, bedroom drinking together, eating together, creating together. When you all came together like that, it was magic. And Saturday night had been magic. The gathering had been at your place this time. It was you, all of your friends, and Adam. Tall, dark, sex on a stick Adam.

Adam had moved in about three months ago. The place he lived in before was bought out and all the residents purged so the building could be torn down. He said that he’d used it as an excuse to get a bit away from the heart of the city, and he'd moved in with you after Ray mentioned he knew you and you were looking for a roommate. When asked about why he was looking for a new place, you'd gotten the watered-down gist. Something something Hannah. Something something Jessa. Something something drama. You'd damn near said no because of the something something drama, but he looked earnest when he said he was done with it and wanted to find a calm space. You had calm space to offer; and so, in he moved.

You caught him watching you a lot that night as you flitted from friend to friend in your shared home. He brought you a drink once or twice when you’d been carrying around an empty glass without noticing, but you were too high on the vibe, the  _ magic _ , to notice the way his honey-brown eyes always followed you wherever you went or the way he made sure he knew where you were.

Once, he caught you in a quiet moment in the kitchen and moved to stand opposite you, filling your glass with water this time just to take a break from the booze. You smiled your thanks at him, happy for the moment of silence and stillness, but pushed off the counter when you heard your name again. But he wasn’t going to let the moment go by and moved to cage you there, arms on either side of you, large body bent slightly to look you in the eye. His eyes dipped to your lips where he could smell the whiskey and then up to your colored cheeks.

“You’re a pretty drunk, you know that?”

You were about to say something, you were certain of it. You were willing your brain to fire up and get ready to hit him with something witty and sexy and adult. But your name was shouted again, and the bubble burst. That was Saturday.

And so, it wasn't surprising to you that Sunday was an up day, a productive day, a great, shining day because you were still flying so fucking high. But you fully expected to crash Sunday night after the house was clean, the laundry done, lunch with your best girl, dinner with your parents, two dog walks, and a flurry of this, that, and the other in between. Your body  _ should  _ have been done. And yet, Monday came with maybe an hour of sleep under your belt.

It was now Friday.

The first day, you'd been annoyed, but this wasn't your first rodeo, and you knew it was only a matter of time. The second day, annoyance turned to irritation; and the third day, you were fucking angry. What the fuck was happening. Thursday was a blur of exhaustion and emotion because you always got emotional when you were tired and it had been DAYS at this point. Never more than two hours of sleep at a time and just fucking awake for no reason. So, you'd begun going through your insomnia arsenal. 

Friday found you called off from work, wrapped in too many blankets on the couch, and the heels of your hands pressed as far into your eye sockets as they could go to stop the tears that were forming. You sat going over the list of things you'd tried to get to sleep AGAIN to try to figure out the right configuration that would work. You'd tried (in no particular order)...

-Hot shower

-Tea

-Tylenol PM

-Masturbation

-Hot shower + tea

-Tea + Tylenol PM x 4 (nobody fucking takes only one)

-Hot shower + masturbation

-All of the above in one night

None of it had worked, and here you were practically weeping on your couch because you were so utterly exhausted when Adam crashed through the door, loud and cursing like he usually was. You curled in on yourself just a little bit more hoping he wouldn't notice you and would just go away.

"What's up, kid?" He greeted while dumping himself onto the couch by you. When you didn't reply immediately, he reached over and nudged you. "Hey… " he said, nudging you again. Two more pokes to your shoulder had you snarling and unbundling your head from the mini fort.

"WHAT ADAM. WHAT DO YOU WANT."

Your outburst didn't seem to rattle him, and he gave your shoulder one more nudge with an up tilt of his mouth. 

"Y'ok there? You look like death."

Heaving what probably liked like a dramatic sigh, but was actually just Herculean effort to not burst into tears again, you dropped your head in your hands once more and muttered…

"I haven't slept all week, I'm exhausted, and I can't banter with you today, ok?" Because normally, the banter was fun. He made you think with his quips and humor. And you loved making him laugh because it seemed like he didn't do it enough. But today was a leave-me-the-fuck-alone day. Adam, however, did not get the memo.

"Have you tried..."

"NO," you nearly shouted, "DO NOT ASK ME if I tried tea or a shower or what the fuck ever. Because I did. More than once and I sincerely doubt that you've got any new ideas to cure insomnia."

He smirked at you but didn’t say anything else. You watched as he leaned forward to unlace his boots. Canting your head slightly, you let your gaze trail to the strong arms, biceps working, and the black t-shirt that sat tight across his chest. But for you, it was two things in particular - his height and his hands. You always had a thing for hands because a good-sized hand could do so many things -- Lift, hold, squeeze, choke. All yummy and delectable things. You also had a thing for tall people because on one hand, it made you feel safe; and on the other, being able to reach literally anything in the world was attractive. You weren’t extremely short, but tall came with bonus points in your book. So, there you were daydreaming about Adam and his tallness and hands when he finally spoke and shook you from your reverie.

“You know...they say sex is good for insomnia.” He was the one watching you now having shucked shoes and socks and leant back into the couch. His gaze roamed you over, and you shrank further into your fort because, though you did shower and brush your teeth, you were certain that you did not paint a pretty picture.

“I’m not having sex with you, Adam. Besides…” You could not have helped the snort that came from your face for all the money in the world, and it came with a side of snarky eye roll, too. “I’ve already tried it.”

His brow quirked, but he didn’t look away. Rather, he let his gaze rove down the bare shoulder, the only bit of you he could see, for a moment before speaking again. 

“You haven’t had anybody here in weeks. And you’ve been wearing that same sweater since Tuesday.” Fuck. It was true, but you didn’t think he paid much attention to your comings and goings. AND ALSO, you definitely didn’t think he paid attention to what you wore. Apparently, he did.

“No, but I did try to get off, and it's the same thing. And it didn’t work and so here I am being badgered by you about the state of my sex life.” With the grumpiest face you could muster, you flopped against the side of the couch and pulled the blanket over your head. 

“Just go away, Adam. Leave me to my insomnia and insanity in peace. I promise I will bequeath the apartment to you when I expire.” And the Oscar for best actress goes to…. 

But your dramatics were cut short when you felt your entire fort being lifted from the couch, and the squeak that broke from your throat was decidedly less than composed, and you bristled at the noise. Who the fuck squeaks.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” 

Just as quickly, you were deposited on the end of your bed and shot to your feet with a glower.

“Come on, kid. I don’t like seeing you like this because its literally fucking pathetic. So, let me help you. I swear I will keep all of my clothes on, and I will not fuck you. Well…" he paused and let his gaze trail from your head to your toes and back again before finishing, “mostly.”

“You…” granted, your brain was sleep deprived and fuzzy, but this was something out of a porn movie, wasn’t it? “You...want to help me sleep...by sort of fucking me?” What. What was even happening. Was this real life? And then, he laughed. He fucking laughed. Hand on the stomach, head tilted back laughed. That was it. Murdering him was your only option now.

“I want to help you sleep by helping you get off. Orgasms you have to give yourself are still work. Just let me give this to you.” 

Apparently, you’d already begun this bizarre experiment because he reached up to pull the clip from your hair and toss it over his shoulder to be lost somewhere in the room. Your mouth opened to chastise him, but he plowed forward before you could formulate the words. 

“I told you. I’m gonna stay just like this, and you’re gonna feel better.” You were still contemplating - because sleepless brain = slow as fuck - when he pulled the heavy white sweater over your head and off your arms.

“I’m going to burn this sweater, by the way.” 

He balled it into a rumpled mess and threw it clean out of the door and into the hallway. He was serious about that sweater. Again, you opened your mouth to object, but he was now working on your leggings. He nudged your feet to get you to lift one and then the other, and they, too, were tossed over his shoulder. In the span of minutes, you had been rooted from your fort, undressed, and were now standing in front of your dangerously handsome roommate in nothing but your favorite blue tank top and black boy-short panties.

“I’ve been wondering what you kept under those ugly, baggy sweaters,” he murmured while not being shy at all about the way his gaze traveled you over.

“Look. Adam.” Reaching up again, you pressed your fingers into your eyes and just took a breath because this was stupid, right? Adam was manipulating you by weaponizing your exhaustion, and you weren’t going to stand for it. You were hardly going to stand for standing.

“This is a bad idea, ok? This isn’t going to work, and I think you sh--” Christ on a cracker what was that? He had cut off your objections by sliding all ten digits into your hair and against your scalp. The large fingers attached to those very large, very strong hands splayed out all around your head. And THEN, he started to rub and scratch at your scalp.

“Fuuuuuuuck." The curse-groan that came from you was definitely unladylike but sweet Jesus did that feel good. Your head dropped forward against his chest, and you felt the reverberation of his soft chuckle against your forehead. Instinctively, both of your hands came up to rest on his hips because he was messing with your equilibrium but god did you hope he wasn’t going to stop. 

“Better?", he asked with his voice a bit softer than before, and you nodded against his chest again without saying anything just in case your voice would break the spell. Your pity party began to puddle away -- no, that was YOU turning into a puddle under that heavenly scalp massage. He was looking down at you now, where you rested your head against him, and he cleared his throat as quietly as he could. 

You tried to lift your head to retort, but he shushed you and just kept right on going with those magic fingers. Each drag of his nails against your scalp elicited a happy groan or moan that made his fingers tighten or flex momentarily, every noise provoking a physical response. His hands moved down from your scalp to wrap around your shoulders and start kneading, and you moaned. Loud. No fucks given.

“Jesus Christ, Adam, please do not stop doing that.”

Adam’s large, wonderful, dexterous hands massaged your shoulders first, then deltoids, then upper back, then rib cage, and you wobbled and teetered depending on where his hands were. You were pliant under his ministrations, and you swore you could hear him muttering something under his breath. Finally, you tipped your head back from his chest and unscrewed one shut eye to look at him.

“Hi,” you said. That was it. That was the best your brain could do. He smirked down at you, tilting his head back in amusement. 

“Hey, kid. Get up on the bed before you fall over.” He laughed. He was laughing at you. Again.

You contemplated it for a moment while staring up at him and his long eyelashes. Was he always this attractive, you wondered. Yes, yes he was. But now what? So far, he’d been true to his word, but you couldn't be sure that he would in the long run. Maybe you were relaxed enough now. Maybe the massage was enough. Maybe you didn’t have to potentially wreck your roommate relationship by whatever it was he was planning to do. But he could, apparently, read it on your face that your brain had started whirring again because he lifted you once more and unceremoniously threw you on the bed. You hadn’t even finished yelping from the surprise of it when he was crawling up in the bed beside you and arranging you on your back. He slid your now very-relaxed arms upwards so they crooked on either side of your head.

“Trust me, ok? Try.” 

You didn’t trust him. It hadn’t been long enough, but you were so, so tired. Your brow furrowed again, and you bit into the plump of your bottom lip. He nudged the side of your chin with his nose, and you knew the anxiety crossing your face was clear, you just knew it. Your brain was kicking up again. Fast, fast, too fast. Sliding up beside you, Adam nudged one of his knees in between your legs, and you jumped. 

“Adam, I…” 

He hushed you yet again, but still gently, and dropped a hand on your stomach, fingers sliding to the side and down until it curled over your hip. His face found the space between ear and shoulder, and those full lips found purchase there. He murmured something against your flushing skin, but you had no clue what it was because that spot, right  _ there _ , was fantastic. His lips trailed up to the lobe of your ear and then back down again, raising goose flesh in their wake. You sighed against him, a satisfied, almost eager sigh. You tilted your head slightly to the side to give him more room to explore that valley, and he took the invitation raining kisses on the skin that soon gave way to his tongue and finally teeth. You hiccuped at the feel of teeth on skin. You knew he was a fan of marking and bruising - his calling card to the world. “Adam was here.” It almost made you laugh.

Finally, Jesus Christ finally, you began to relax against him. The stiffness from your aching arms and legs began to recede, and tears sprang to your eyes at how fucking amazing it felt to not have that tightness in your shoulders, your back. Both hands dropped down from where he’d set them to fall on Adam’s shoulders, hips shifted against him and tilted - a decidedly languid undulation matched with a contented sound through parted lips. He glanced up at you then, eyes raking over your flushing skin, watching your lashes flutter open at his pause. The slight dig of your nails into his shoulders drew a thrust from his stuttering hips before he could reign it in. He could not, however, stop the things coming out of his mouth.

“You're doing so fucking good, kid. Doesn’t that feel better? Told you I was going to take care of you.” All you could do was nod. Yes, it does feel better. Yes, he was taking care of you. But your brow furrowed again because the ache was shifting from arms and legs into your center. The core of you began to throb in time with your heartbeat, and that ache was torturous. 

“Adam…” You breathed it out, something of a plea, and he lifted his head to look at you, groaning softly at the look of wanting found there. 

“I know. Just let me…” His voice trailed off, and he began to scoot around you -- propping himself up on this side, coming up to his knees for balance, both legs caging one of yours to keep it apart from the other. When he had you just the way he wanted, he leaned forward - the bulk of his weight up on the arm so he could look down at you, your face, the length of your body. And look he did. You watched him, through your lashes, as he stared down at you. Canting his head to one side so he could look all the way to your toes.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmured - more to himself but loud enough for you to hear. And then, he began to move again, heaving a satisfied hum that you could feel vibrate through his chest.

“Ah sshhhit!” The surprised cry broke from you as two large fingers slid up and down against your labia, the friction from your panties just enough to drag. Instinctively, your uncaged knee drew up slightly, the ball of your foot finding ground in the blanket to give you a bit of leverage to lift your hip - granting more access to the lower parts of you and eliciting an appreciative sound from the looming figure above you. A few passes in, that enticingly long middle finger slipped between the two labia to rub from the tight bundle of nerves hidden there to the slick entrance of your core. When you began to lift your hips to meet his strokes, he cursed. 

“These need to go right fucking now,” he muttered and sat up on his knees to peel away the offending panties and toss them away. He turned back to you and just stared. In another life, you’d have shied away from his gaze because there you were naked under him, your breasts swollen high and tight from arousal with pebbled nipples straining the fabric of your shirt, bare legs parted, swelling cunt all on display, and all of you heaving with breath coming in short bursts. In this life, however, you were too lust-rattled and tired to think about how you might look. With no shame whatsoever, he reached into his pants to adjust himself, and you held your breath. He smirked that asshole smirk of his holding your gaze steady as he did it. Adam Sackler was a devious beast, you decided, but you couldn’t help yourself from licking your lips at the thought of it.

In a second, Adam dropped back down over you and buried his face into the crook of your neck again hiding whatever tortured faces he might be making. You didn’t have time to dwell on that notion, however, when you felt the pads of his fingers find the fount of your slick again. Your own self control wavered. With a gasp, your hips jolted forward against him again, and you began to rock upwards and down with each press and pass of his fingers. The sounds spilling out of you were uncontrolled, frenzied - particularly when he abandoned the long passes for short, tight circles on your clitoris. Your fingers curled into fists in his shirt, clutching the fabric as though it would help. When your hips began to buck and your head pressed back into the pillow, he lifted his head from the valley of your throat to watch you.

“Come on, kid. Quick and dirty this time. Cum for me.” 

You nodded your head blindly, agreeing with him that fucking yes, you wanted to. It was right there and he was charging towards it for you. Bless this dirty, dirty man. Every part of you was clenched tightly, terribly tightly - eyes, fingers, toes, knees, hips, core. And then  _ fucking yes _ , there it was. As the tightness in you exploded outwards, you came with a series of shouts that had him planting his free hand on your chest so he could  _ feel _ them. He started to talk to you again, punctuated with his own arousal now, riding you through the orgasm the only way he could in this arrangement - with that filthy mouth.

“Look how fucking good you look.” He huffed, heaving a breath against you. 

“Bet you taste like candy.” You felt the vibration of his low, hungry groan.

“Shit, you’re gonna fucking kill me.” He pressed his hand down into your chest just a bit more until your eyes opened and looked up at him.

“Time for take two, yeah? Wanna make sure you sleep. Let me taste you.”

The delirium in your head made you question if he was saying those things out loud, and you certainly weren’t sure if that was you nodding your head, but his weight was gone from you so fast there was little doubt that it was definitely you who had agreed, and it was definitely him pushing your thighs apart wider. 

Laying himself along the end of your bed, he traced the outline of your labia again with his finger. You looked down to see him gazing into your pussy, pearlescent from your arousal and orgasm. He treated himself first to the taste of your thighs, licking away the sweat and slick that was spotting the flesh and applying a trail of hungry bites to your center. When he finally - FUCKING FINALLY - lowered his mouth to your taste, he groaned loud. The reverberation of it against your already sensitive sex sent a shudder up your spine. Hungrily, he tasted all of you - labia, clit, slit outside and in - and you were never so grateful for a debauched man. His tongue circled and he sucked on your clit until you squirmed. He scooped up all of the slick collecting at your entrance and sucked it down like ice cream with a lascivious moan. 

But then you moved, and that drew his eyes open and up along all of the curves of your body. He watched you as you shifted a bit, scooting your hips down closer to him. Both of your hands came down to thread into his hair, and you began to move his mouth against you, and Adam lost his fucking mind. He growled and moaned, digging fingertips into the flesh of your thigh as you brazenly showed him what you liked. You moved him, then, up and down, side to side, and he hummed hungrily with each thrust of your hips as you worked yourself on his mouth.

You were almost there. It was right fucking there, but your brow knit with frustration because you were chasing something that seemed elusive. A pained whimper broke loose from your chest, and you threw your head back against the pillow. Watching Adam devour your pussy should have been enough because, good god, he was beautiful between your thighs. And the hungry look he gave you when you began to manipulate him made your insides pool that much hotter. But still you chased, frustratedly, until finally, one of those large hands came to push one leg higher up. On the heels of that came two long fingers sliding into your heat, and your chest shot up off of the bed like you had been electrocuted. A shouted curse broke loose from you as those fingers began to move, pumping in and out, curling to drag against the spongy spot inside. Your trembling fingers curled harder into his hair, and your hips began to dance against him again. Rocking, rocking, rocking…

“Fuck, Adam!” Your chest arched upwards until the only parts of you touching the bed were head, shoulders, and hips -- your pelvis punched down low and open for his thrusting fingers. That coil began to tighten again, and you trembled right at the edge of it. Teetering. Keening. Still chasing.

“Goddammit! Say something!” 

And oh, thankfuckinggod, he moaned into your cunt, and the vibration of it ricocheted through you and shot you like a slingshot. The force of your orgasm shook your legs, your hips rolled and bucked, and you cried out hoarsely. The new surge of hot and wet that met his lips had Adam reeling a series of hungry, sloppy moans alongside yours. He chased every drop, every taste of it until you’d rode him through the high and had begun to collapse against the bed. 

Happy, contented sounds rumbled through your body and you patted his head affectionately - that was the only thing you were capable of currently.

With a chuckle, he crawled up the bed beside you and settled himself gingerly by your side. You watched him move, and your brow furrowed slightly. Did he hurt himself? Was it that bad? What the fuck, man! But before you could think of too many more scenarios, he captured your chin in his fingers and kissed you once, light but enough to impart his enjoyment of you. The tang of you now on your lips had you smacking them blissfully. Man wasn’t wrong. Tasted like candy.

“Don’t think. You’ve got me hard, painfully. Sleep.” 

As he talked, he wrapped an arm around your middle and pulled you close, settling your back against his chest so that he could bury his face in your hair. Pulling up the blanket around you both, he wrapped himself all around you and whispered into the back of your neck. 

“Sweet dreams, kid.”

Because it had worked. And here you were -- sweaty, sticky, sated. And fast, fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This prompted more ideas. See The Many Adventures of LC for further Sackler goodness.


End file.
